


Hellsing: Forest Fire

by TheRoseCladDemonDoctor



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, M/M, Nazis, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoseCladDemonDoctor/pseuds/TheRoseCladDemonDoctor
Summary: An alternate universe fic regarding a what-if: What if Hellsing had an operative who could see the future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big writing project so it's probably not the most polished thing ever, but I'm looking to improve. I hope you all enjoy reading this!

_Fires, burning. A flash of white teeth, fangs. A dozen dead bodies, familiar faces lying among them. Caught in a crossfire. Gunshots, loud as cannons. Two beasts locked in battle, diametrically opposed. One independent, a vicious killer, remorseless eyes scanning the flame-ringed battlefield. The other, a red-coated lapdog, leash held by a woman of incredible will. The woman’s eyes burn with fire greater than the flames around them, she roars to her pup, distracting him. A boy, scarce younger than herself, alive among the dead, but barely. He coughs, lungs filled with blood, drowning. More gunshots. One of the two demigods falls. The boy hears footsteps, a flash of red, then nothing. Darkness._

            Claude Grey jolted from his sleep, heart pounding as he awoke.

            **God dammit** , he thought. **Not again**.

            He hadn’t had this dream in a while. The day he found out that everything he thought he knew about the world was wrong. Rubbing his exhausted eyes, he turned in the pitch-black bedroom to look at his alarm clock.

            1:08 A.M.

            **Piss**.

            Claude groaned softly. He’d only gotten three hours of sleep, if that. And after that dream, he knew he wasn’t getting anymore.

            Resigned to spending his day as a barely-awake zombie, Claude swung his legs over the side of the bed, blanket spilling to the floor. He shambled over to his closet, opening it slowly and struggling to find his uniform in the darkness. He dressed quietly, trying not to awaken his sleeping roommate, before slipping out the door into the hallway.

            Hellsing Manor, at this hour of night, was practically lifeless. The halls were void of movement save for the occasional guard on night patrol. The normally bright lights lining the walls were dimmed so as not to disturb the residents sleeping in their rooms. Claude squinted against the new light, his blue eyes adjusting slowly.

            It was a long walk to the kitchen from his room, halfway across the Manor, down to the ground floor. His boots clicked softly on the stairs as he descended.

            Left from the stairwell, then right, right again, then left.

            The kitchen was substantial, sized and stocked to serve more than a hundred people. Claude needed a cup of coffee. He rifled through the cupboards, looking for the bag of black nuggets of salvation. His hands found the proper bag, full of Sulawesi coffee beans from a brand he could never be bothered to remember.

            Pour the beans, then grind. Brew.

            As he waited on the coffee to brew, Claude became increasingly aware of the slight tremor in his hands. It always returned after a dream.

 **Dammit all**. He growled quietly, smacking his hands on the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. Thrice. He knew what the shakes meant, as did Integra, as did Alucard.

            He needed to get himself under control. It was far too unbecoming for an agent of Hellsing to shake like a small child after a dream, even after the visions he often had in his sleep. Claude found himself hitting the counter more, as though hurting his hands would bring an end to their shaking. As if begging him to stop, the coffee machine beeped, its signal that the drink was ready.

            He poured it into a thick mug, no added sugar, just a spoonful of sweetened, condensed milk. Claude sipped at the intoxicating brew, checking his watch.

            1:30 A.M. Sir Integra wouldn’t be awake for another five hours. Claude knew she would want a full report of his dreams on her desk by noon, as she always did. He was the only member of the Hellsing Organization who had to do this.

            With another heavy sigh, he returned to his room, grabbed his laptop, and moved to the boardroom to get a start on his report. His hands continued shaking ever-so-softly as he typed.

* * *

 

            Walter had found Claude in the boardroom at nearly 5:00 A.M. With barely-concealed surprise, he nodded as the soldier explained why he was up so early. Claude asked the butler to inform Sir Integra where to find him when she awoke.

            Sure enough, at seven o’clock sharp, the tall, impeccably-dressed blonde woman entered the boardroom, one hand holding a mug of coffee and the other holding a large three-ring binder. She walked to the seat beside Claude, pulling out the chair and sitting down wordlessly.

            “So, Mr. Grey…” She sipped from the mug, idly opening the binder and flipping to the divider labeled [March, 1999]. “Walter tells you’ve been at work since the wee hours of the morning.”

            “Yes, Sir Integra.” Claude nodded, dutifully passing her the stack of papers written in the template he made for reports. “I… Found myself awake at an early hour, from a dream last night.”

            Integra scanned over the report, her brow furrowed as she began to read, a look of familiarity on her face.

           “The day Alucard and I rescued you.”

           “Yes, sir.”

           “It’s been almost a month since you’ve dreamt that dream.”

           “It has, yes sir.” Claude nodded respectfully. “I do apologize. I have no control over my visions.”

           Integra waved her hand dismissively. “No apologies. I do understand things such as this are far beyond the control of people such as yourself and I.” She smirked. “Your visions have been useful more than once.”

           As she spoke, her eyes drifted to Claude’s hands, hidden in his lap, below the table.

           “Your hands, let me see them.”

           “Pardon… Pardon me, sir?”

           “You heard me. Your hands.” Her tone shifted, more stern than before. The soldier sighed, lifting his hands and resting them on the table. They trembled softly, even as Integra took them and quietly examined each one, turning them over in her own hands.

           “It’s gotten worse.”

           “Yes, sir. It’s just like-“

           “Belgium.” She interrupted. “That means something’s going to happen, doesn’t it?

           “I suppose so, sir. I don’t know when it will be, but it must be soon.”

           Integra huffed, nodding quietly. Her eyes closed, and she sat in thought for a moment, planning their next course of action. After nearly a minute, she reopened her eyes. She quietly popped the rings of the binder and filed the report amongst hundreds of others. The softness in her voice, however slight, was once again replaced with the same pragmatic tone as always.

           “Keep writing your reports, then. Attend drills and patrol as usual. If you faint, I want you to inform me immediately, no matter to whom I’m speaking. And…” She gently tapped his left hand with a gloved finger. “I want you to see Walter for something to help calm that tremble in your hands. You’ll do nobody any good if you can’t stop shaking in an emergency. Understand?”

           “Absolutely, sir.” Claude nodded. Sir Integra nodded in return. Without further adieu, she stood, binder and coffee mug in hand, and exited the boardroom.

           Claude followed suit, making a different turn to go hunt down the Hellsing butler, Walter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the timeline of this fic will be different than canon. I’m trying to keep characters as in character as possible but events as a whole will change.

_A priest corrupted. A village in Somerset. Confused townsfolk, scared for their children. The children. Disappearing in the night. Police respond. An evil grin, an army, shambling in the dark. Gunshots. A woman, chased, grabbed. The same red-coated hound, a vicious smile, a taunt. More gunfire, blood. Death. Death._

            Claude had fainted in the middle of night training. The thunderous boom of gunshots around him had ceased, his squadmates forming a circle around him in surprise. One had lifted him to a sitting position, trying to coax him awake.

            He awoke to the concerned faces of his comrades-in-arms. A tall, lanky brunette had crouched next to him.

            “Claude? It happened again?”

            He nodded, utterly out of breath. Visions took everything out of them when they occurred at random as this one had. He struggled to his feet, suddenly out of energy and weighed down by his gear.

            “I have to find Sir Integra.”

            Shedding the thirty kilograms of gear plus gun, Claude rushed back into the manor, leaving his befuddled squadmates behind.

            Integra, at this hour, could only be found in her office. Claude knew this, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to report to her in the middle of the night for a vision. Upstairs, second story, middle of the front façade.

            He had picked a bad time.

            Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing was conversing with her loyal bodyguard, the vampire Alucard.

            Claude was quietly unnerved by Alucard, had been ever since the day they met. His unease these days was a far cry from the abject terror he felt around the vampire three years ago. The sense of unease was exacerbated by the fact that, mid-conversation, Claude’s benefactor and her bodyguard ceased talking to stare at the door.

            However, the initial look of disgust on Integra’s face from the interruption softened as she saw who stood in the doorway to her office.

            “Oh? Something the matter, Mr. Grey?” She spoke, beckoning him to the desk. Claude trudged closer, keeping his composure even as the nearly two-meter vampire stared at him, arms crossed.

            “I fainted, Sir Integra. I had another vision.” At these words, she sat more upright, quickly grabbing a pen and paper.

            “Claude, I want you to tell me everything you remember, as clearly as you can.”

            He relayed the dream to her, omitting no details. He hoped it was worthwhile this time.

            Claude’s visions always portrayed events from the past, from the present, and from the future. But visions of the present and the future had a nasty habit of not happening, which caused no small amount of grief for the Hellsing organization back when they investigated every dream he had. Nowadays, they erred on the side of caution and maintained a state of readiness whenever he had a vision whose contents had yet to occur.

            As her pen finished dancing across the paper, Integra huffed quietly, thinking. She knew the risks of pursuing a vision that wasn’t going to occur. She did NOT need a repeat of what happened in Hawick. On the other hand, it could be as big as the Belgium Incident. She still shuddered at the amount of paperwork she had to fill out for that one.

            “You said it was Cheddar, correct? That’s the village in Somerset?”

            “That’s right, yes ma’am.”

            “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Claude.” Integra nodded at him. “We’ll keep apprised of the situation. Now, do get some sleep.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost motherly. “Lord only knows you’ve had a long day.”

            She was right. It had been less than twelve hours since submitting his report on last night’s dream. “You and the rest of Squad 17 will be dismissed for the night. I want all of you at the ready in case anything comes of this.”

            “I appreciate that, Sir Integra, thank you. Good night.” He paused, giving a curt nod to the vampire, whose eyes never left Claude’s figure throughout the conversation. “Good night to you, too, Mr. Alucard.”

            Alucard let out a soft chuckle at the honorific. “Just Alucard.”

            Claude made a noise to the effect of “mmhmm,” before turning on his heel and departing the room.

           

 

            Eight days later, Claude’s vision would come to fruition. There was a police crisis in the village of Cheddar. Shots were fired, numerous individuals reported dead. Local police had almost half of the village cordoned off, and nearly three thousand people had been evacuated.

            Reports circulated among the news agencies that a religious extremist group called the Church of the Highest Divine had laid siege to the town, and that a special government task force was being called in to resolve the situation and free any possible hostages.

            In reality, there was no “Church of the Highest Divine.” The “special government task force” was the Hellsing Organization. And, knowing their line of work, there sure as hell wouldn’t be any hostages to free.

            Claude sat, his weapon clamped between his legs. He was cramped in the back of a Saxon armoured personnel carrier with the rest of Squad 17, en route to Cheddar. There were five similar vehicles behind theirs, carrying Squads 3, 8, 9, 12, and 15. A total of sixty individuals in the convoy, trailing behind a Rolls-Royce which carried Sir Integra Hellsing and Alucard. On the outskirts of the village, the convoy slowed, never stopping, as Alucard exited the car and entered the village proper.

            The rest of them deployed along the police cordon, relieving the official forces and expanding the perimeter, getting any civilians as far away as possible. As the other squads began their work, Squad 17 was to deploy into Cheddar and do their damnedest to find any survivors while Alucard searched for the head vampire.

            Claude knew this show of force bordered on excessive, but Integra had decided to make an impression. Besides, they knew it could take hours to comb the village and find the bastard responsible for ghoulifying several hundred people.

            The eight members of Squad 17 marched in an arrowhead formation. Their unofficial name was “Thunder Children,” named for the HMS Thunder Child from H.G. Wells’ _War of the Worlds_. They were the best-armed and best-trained that Hellsing had to offer, and they got sent in when Alucard was needed elsewhere. They were the last human line of defense when things got rough.

            As they marched, Claude shouldered his weapon. Every member of the Thunder Children was issued the same gun. A custom-built affair, designed and produced by Walter and the Hellsing Arms gunsmiths. Called the “Karmina,” they were guns that were barely suitable for human usage. Each was 10 kilograms fully loaded, designed to fire the largest shotgun shells Claude had seen in his life. Silver-coated iron balls of shot, designed for dealing with groups of ghouls, or proper vampires. Since humans couldn’t aim as well as Alucard could, the ability to fire a whole lot at once could more than compensate for this.

           The shotguns certainly came in handy as they waded through dozens of ghouls, heading door-to-door to check for survivors.

           So far, it was just ghouls, ghouls, and more ghouls. Cliff Street in particular was brimming with them. Claude shouldered his gun and fired at a ghoul that came too close, the colossal gun kicking into his shoulder hard enough to hurt.

           He was trying not to think very hard about how this ghoul was a traffic cop, or how that ghoul looked to be in her sixties. He hated to think about how close he had come to being one in the past, on more than one occasion. He especially hated to think about how every ghoul they killed was one more family member who wouldn’t be coming to dinner the next day.

           They had rounded off of Cliff Street onto Birch Hill when they heard gunshots, far distant, in the woods at the border of the village. The rest of Squad 17 stopped as they heard the telltale BANG of Alucard’s gun once again, and the remaining ghouls in the village were no more.

           The squad leader, a chap named Belmont, radioed in to Integra that Alucard completed his mission, that the head vampire had been dealt with, and there were no further survivors to be found. She ordered Squad 17 back, and sent in the remaining five squads to perform cleanup duties.

           Claude sighed, relieved. He handled the fighting better than a lot of people, but it took a toll on his mind. Every fight did. But he knew it was something he had to do, to keep from thinking about the human cost.

           As they returned to the edge of the police cordon, he saw the tall vampire emerge from the woods, carrying a wounded, blonde woman in a police uniform. She was the one he saw in his visions. Integra turned, eyes burning a hole into Belmont.

           “I thought you said there were no survivors.” She spoke.

           Alucard smirked, piping up. “Technically, there weren’t.”

           That’s when Claude saw her teeth. Her fangs.

           He hadn’t foreseen that.


	3. Chapter 3

            Claude didn’t get enough sleep these days. He had been awoken at half past midnight by Walter shaking him awake.

            “Mr. Grey…” The butler’s hand gently grasped his shoulder, shaking him again. “Mr. Grey, Sir Integra requests your presence.”

            Claude begrudgingly opened his eyes.

            _Standing before him was a young man, a twisted grin on his face, hands grasping at a bundle of monofilament wire. Spattered with blood, eyes staring into his soul. The young man had Walter’s voice, his grin never leaving as he spoke._

_“Something the matter, Mr. Grey?”_

Claude blinked.

            _The young man was replaced with an older man, unmistakably Walter. Far more intimidating, clad in black, sans all of the wrinkles that the Hellsing butler had gathered over the years._

            The soldier froze in place, looking at the figure. As he blinked again, the young man disappeared, replaced by the form of the elderly assistant to the Hellsing Organization. Claude let out a sigh of relief.

            “No, no Walter. Everything’s fine, thank you. You…” He looked up again. “Integra’s asking for me?”

            “That’s correct. It’s an emergency. She said to tell you it has the potential to be a ‘repeat of Belgium.’ She said to bring yourself, armed, to the helicopter pad as soon as you please.”

            The soldier was justifiably alarmed at this. He threw the sheets away as though they were trying to kill him. He bolted to the closet, within which lay his uniform and guns. Not even caring about Walter’s presence, not worried about waking his roommate, he stripped from his pajama clothes and pulled on his battledress as quickly as he could manage, grabbing the Karmina shotgun and his sidearm as he rushed out of the room.

            Him being called, without the rest of Squad 17, could only mean that Alucard was tied up elsewhere. Claude’s minor precognition and skill behind a shotgun meant that he was often picked as Sir Integra’s bodyguard when the vampire was indisposed.

            It was a hell of a run to the helipad. It sat comfortably atop the Manor’s fourth storey, which meant a lot of stair-climbing to do. In thirty kilos of gear.

            Claude hated stairs.

            He exited the door onto the helipad at a full run, hopping into the already-running Westland Wessex helicopter. Sir Integra and another guard sat across from him, her second bodyguard seated in the seat next to his own.

            “Ah, Mr. Grey. Apologies for the short notice. A situation has arisen in the town of Badrick, in Northern Ireland. Another ghoul army, sired by another vampire. It seems an agent of the Vatican has been sent to quell the situation, as has our Alucard and the Police Girl.”

            Claude was more than a little confused. **Why’re we needed, then?**

            “Judging from the look on your face, you’re wondering why we need to lend assistance. This agent of the Vatican is none other than Alexander Anderson. While not a vampire, he is every bit the expert in combat that Alucard is.”

            **Oh. That’s why.** Alexander Anderson was practically a boogeyman. Nobody outside of their top-level contacts in MI5 could find any information on the man. But there’d been plenty of rumors. Especially of the clean-up necessary after the Paladin Anderson entered the field.

            “I see. You want us to stop them fighting, then, Sir Integra?”

            She nodded wordlessly. Claude swallowed thickly, nervous. He adjusted his glasses with a gloved hand, holding tightly onto his gun with the other hand.

           The air in the helicopter was tense with anticipation. Nobody needed precognition to know that this endeavor had the potential to end very badly.

           Luckily, all Claude needed to do was stick by Integra’s side. Integra. Walter!

           “Sir Integra, there’s something I need to tell you.”

          “Yes, what is it?” She looked curious.

          “I… Uh… Y’know, it’s nothing. Just a feeling I had, that’s all.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the feeling he had was about Walter. Integra kept her eyes on him for a few moments, but nodded.

          “Yes, I see. Let me know if you see anything.”

          Claude let out a quiet “mmhmm.”

          The rest of their flight to Northern Ireland was in silence. They approached the building to which Alucard and Seras had been sent.

 **Oh damn**. It looked to be a school. The Westland Wessex set down in the courtyard outside, and the four armed individuals hopped out. Claude took a position in front and to the right of Integra, and the two remaining bodyguards walked ahead. Even through the din of the helicopter’s engine, they could hear a silence in the building that was wholly uncharacteristic of wherever Alucard ventured.

          That wasn’t a good sign.

          The two suit-clad guards had taken point, drawing their guns and entering the building in advance. Their five-point room scan found nought but dead bodies. Ghouls. They motioned for Claude and Integra to enter.

          The soldier kept his shotgun shouldered, pointed down, finger beside the trigger. They heard shouting in the hallway to the right, and the two suits charged in ahead.

          Seras was backed against a doorway, Alucard’s headless body in the hallway close by. That’s when Claude saw him.

          A beast of a man, blonde hair cut short, clad in a massive beige coat, bearing all the trappings of a Catholic priest. Held in his hands, high above his head, were two… Were those bayonets? He moved, poised to cut Seras down, when Sir Integra fired, shattering the two great knives in his hands.

           Anderson turned, a wicked grin on his face. Sir Integra began to speak, Anderson argued, but it was all muffled. Claude couldn’t concentrate. A splitting pain shot through his head, and the world disappeared.

_Hellsing Manor, burning, more than a hundred dead. Two burning bodies, brothers. Old enemies from a time long past. An army of ghouls, unlike any seen before, packed in buses. The Council of Twelve meets. A declaration of war._

            Claude heard shouting, felt hands grab his shoulder. A voice in his head screamed.

_Raise your gun! Fire! Fire!_

            As if by instinct, he pulled the trigger. The shotgun, fired by one hand, threw him off balance. The deafening roar caught everyone by surprise, the muzzle blast of the gun catching a small portion of the priest’s jacket aflame. In the din of the gunshot, there was a loud _CLANG_ , and two bayonets tumbled to the floor, broken beyond repair.

            Claude returned to reality, seeing the bodies of the two other bodyguards in front of him.

            Anderson had thrown two bayonets at him, bayonets he couldn’t even have seen. He didn’t even see the fight, just the aftermath. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the Paladin chuckling.

            “Ahh, ye’re diff’rent! Yessss, not yin ae those blood-suckin’ freaks, but not as normal as yer boss, right?” He grinned further. “The Vatican could use yin ae ye!” He crossed his bayonets.

           “If’n ye ever feel like convertin’ from yer Protestant heresy, le’ me know! Be happy to turn ye against the freaks and Protestants, my boy!”

           Claude dropped to his knees, suddenly unable to stand under the weight of his gear. The vision had sapped his energy. Alucard started to reform from his dismembered body.

           Anderson disappeared in a cloud of Bible paper.

           Integra knelt down beside him.

           “Claude! What in God’s name happened to you?!” He couldn’t tell if she was furious or concerned. He wanted to go with both.

           He panted, gritting his teeth through the subsiding headache from earlier.

           “There’s… ha… There’s going to be an attack. On the Mansion. I’ve never felt so certain of a vision in my life.”

* * *

 

            The next several days were a buzz of activity. Sir Integra had been making calls left and right to find a suitable group to act as reinforcement for the Hellsing forces. If anything happened as in Claude’s vision, the mere one hundred men in their current employ would be nowhere near enough. She settled on the highest bidder, a mercenary group based out of Amsterdam. The Wild Geese.

            It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and a lot of favors from the Council of Twelve to get the mercenaries and their materiel through customs and positioned in the Hellsing Manor.

            Today would be “Orientation Day.”

            Integra, Seras, and Claude would be meeting the two-dozen or so mercs in what was ordinarily the South Dining Hall.

            He could already hear their leader talking about how their job would entail fighting monsters, to the laughter of his troops.

            **God above, that man has a gorgeous voice~…** Claude found himself thinking. He was eager to see the face behind the voice, hoping it was as beautiful.

            He was not disappointed.

            They emerged into the dining hall, and he immediately zoned out as Integra began to speak. The leader of the mercenaries turned to face them, one eye covered by a patch, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. He had incredible long, red hair, tied in a braid that wrapped around his neck and still reached halfway down his back.

            **That… Now that’s just asking for fingers in it.** Claude quickly turned away, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on his face. **Dammit, Christ, no!**

            “… highest ranked member of our staff.” He heard Integra finish, gesturing to him. He gulped, turning back and quickly holding his hand up, palm flat, facing the mercenaries.

            “Umm… Hello!”

            There was a smattering of laughter. The lead merc walked over, sizing him up. Claude had to make an effort to look the man in the eye, as Claude was nearly a full head shorter.

            “Zis man is your… ‘ighest ranked soldier?”

            Claude wrinkled his nose at the comment. “Yes, I am!”

            Integra interrupted, placing a hand on the mercenary’s chest. “Mr. Bernadotte…”

            “Ah ah, please, call me Pip.”

            “Pip… Mr. Grey here has served with us for three years. His combat experience may be more… Unorthodox, compared to your own, but he is an invaluable asset to the Hellsing Organization.”

            “Non, madame. I assure you I meant no offense.” Pip extended a hand to the much shorter soldier in front of him. “I was just… ‘ow you say… Ribbing you? I assure you I look forward to working with you.”

            Claude nodded, smiling slightly, and took Pip’s hand in a firm shake.

            “Not to worry, Monsieur Bernadotte, no offense taken. I look forward to… To working with you as well.” Pip returned a smirk at that, then turned to his men and began barking orders.

            Perhaps Seras had noticed the tone of his voice. Maybe it was his smell, or the dreamy look on his face, the way he made eyes at the mercenary leader. She covered her mouth, hiding a smile, prompting a perplexed look from Claude.

            “What?” He crossed his arms. “What’s so funny, police girl?”

            “Oh my God…” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Oh my God, you’ve got a crush on Monsieur Bernadotte~!”

            Claude quickly bolted upright, eyes widened. He looked to make sure the mercenaries hadn’t heard. If they had, not a one of them made any sign of it.

            “Don’t you fuckin’ tell him!” Claude whispered. She let out a giggle, loud enough that a couple of the Wild Geese looked in their direction. She and Claude quickly turned away.

            Seras grinned wildly. “That’s so cute! Let me…” She giggled again, digging an elbow into Claude’s ribs. “Let me know if you need a ‘wingman.’”

            She walked away, continuing to softly giggle to herself. Claude sighed. He turned around to take another look at Pip. Pip, who was standing with his back facing Claude. Pip, who was… Now bending over to pick up a case of ammo.

            Claude vacated the room.

 

\----Four days later----

 

            Almost four in the afternoon. Claude was looking around the estate, trying to find Pip. He had spent much of the previous two days with his nose buried in a French-to-English dictionary, trying to learn bits and pieces of the language.

            And there he was, in front of a third-storey window overlooking the front courtyard of the Manor. Seated on a large couch, conversing with a pair of his fellow Wild Geese. Smiling, and laughing.

            **Hoh damn, what a smile…**

            He waited, then walked over as the two Wild Geese departed. Pip looked over, giving a smile.

            “Ah, Monsieur Grey. Much pleasure to meet you!”

            Damn, he forgot everything he was going to say.

            **Say something, quick!**

            “Umm… B-bonjour, Monsieur Bernadotte. C-comment allez-vous?”

            Pip paused, a clear look of surprise on his face. He had not expected the short little blonde man to speak anything other than English. The French mercenary adjusted his hair, then leaned forward, one hand on his knee.

            “Bien, et vous?”

            “Uh… C-c’est bon, je suis magnifique.”

            Pip chuckled.

            “Surely, Monsieur Grey, you ‘ave some ulterior motive, coming to me trying to speak French.”

            “I… Well, I…”

            Pip stared at him expectantly. Claude’s mind went utterly blank, and all that came to mind were the lyrics of an old song. Lyrics which he proceeded to mumble softly, through no will of his own.

            “V-v-voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

            He had never seen a person’s face go red that quickly in his life. He was positive it had to be some sort of record. Pip just stared at him, for what felt like a year but was more likely about a minute or two. He cleared his throat softly, face still beet-red.

            “Zat is… A very old way to say zat. Trying to court someone today, you should say ‘tu aurais envie de faire l'amour ce soir.’ Zat means ‘would you like to make love tonight?’” He smirked. “And traditionally, before you ask zat, you buy zem dinner first.” Pip stood up slowly, chuckling, his face returning to a normal color though still very red. He tousled Claude’s hair, then bent down to talk to him at eye level.

            “Per’aps one night zis week, you and I might have dinner. Zen I’ll consider it. C’est bon?”

            “C-c’est bon…”

            Pip nodded, placing a cigarette between his teeth and walking onward.

            By God, did Claude feel mortified.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday morning. The Hellsing Organization and Wild Geese had been at full combat readiness for nearly two weeks. Full combat readiness meant constant patrols, each patrol shift pulling more than twelve hours constantly on watch. It was wearing on everyone. Normal humans simply weren’t meant to keep vigilant and alert for that kind of time each day.

            It was especially wearing on Claude. He hadn’t had an opportunity to really talk with Pip since their previous interaction. “One night zis week” got quickly pushed back to “Possibly next week.”

            More worrying to the blonde soldier, as he wandered the halls, was the effect the whole situation was having on Sir Integra. It had been at his urging that she hired the Wild Geese and pushed to fortify Hellsing Manor for what could be a siege situation. He had already passed by her door to hear her saying that she shouldn’t have listened to him. Claude knew it was just the stress, but that still stung.

            Which is why it almost came as a relief when, nearly sixteen days since the Wild Geese arrived, a spotter on the roof saw the buses pulling up at the front of the manor.

            Claude assumed his position in the ground floor. The mercenaries had taken positions up on the second storey, defiladed through the windows, with heavy machine gun nests set up at three points. The Hellsing troops had been spread throughout the manor, and Sir Integra and Walter took refuge in the basement.

            There was a brief moment of anticipation as two tall, lanky, very differently-dressed individuals walked up to the gatehouse, exchanging a brief word with the guards before opening fire.

            The whole world seemed to pause, as if taking a breath. Suddenly, it was like the gates of Hell itself opened up. Nearly a hundred guns throughout the mansion opened fire. The two men at the gates jumped, taken by surprise. They moved faster than anyone could possibly keep track of, scattering and moving out of the firing arcs of the mercenaries on the upper levels.

The buses accelerated, making a charge for the front door, tires tearing deep tracks in the ground. One of the buses suddenly split in half, torn to a hundred thousand pieces by an explosion as it rolled over an anti-tank mine. The remaining three buses slammed into the front façade of the mansion, breaking through the walls and sending soldiers scattering.

More explosions as the doors on the buses opened, spilling forth soldiers replete with riot shields, all crudely labeled with “Boo doo, people murder people.” The Hellsing soldiers hid behind barriers, but still found themselves falling under the crushing advance of the armored ghouls.

Squad 17 had been split across the first floor, not one member was within easy reach of each other. Claude had the good fortune to be placed near the stairwell, a half-dozen men and women under his direct order.

The radio on his hip crackled to life.

“This is Belmont, in temporary command of Squad 6! We’re falling back to the Southeast stairwell! All troops, masks on! Thunder Children, load your guns for area denial!”

Claude looked around as everyone around him snapped on simple painter’s breathers and goggles. “Area denial.”

The Karmina shotguns were of a large enough bore to launch custom grenades. These had been designed by Alucard and Walter in a joint venture to give humans weapons to make life very unpleasant for vampires and ghouls. A frangible outer shell made out of cold iron, boasting a very light explosive charge. The real meat of the grenades was their incredibly finely-powdered silver, each individual speck light enough to float on the softest breeze. Each grenade contained several hundred grams of this powdered silver.

As Squad 6 rounded the corner in full retreat, pursued by a charging formation of ghouls, Claude dutifully shouldered his gun and fired over the heads of his comrades-in-arms. The grenade rounds kicked more than usual, so his gun knocked the hell out of his shoulder. Its explosive projectile sailed high, smacking into the shield of one ghoul before bursting open in a flash of light.

It suddenly became much harder to see in the hallway as a million rays of light were reflected by the particulate silver floating in the air. The ghouls, clearly newly-turned, continued to breathe instinctively. That was their mistake, as they caught lungs full of powdered silver. As their lungs screamed in pain, their skin blistering from exposure to the precious metal, some dropped their shields. Some dropped their guns. All of the ghouls seized in pain. A lung full of silver wouldn’t be enough to kill a vampire, not even a ghoul, but it distracted them. Which was exactly what was necessary, as the Hellsing soldiers ripped the small crowd apart with concentrated fire.

The soldiers in that small hallway let out a cheer, but it was short-lived. The other sides of the Manor remained unsecured, a fact they were painfully reminded of as another member of Squad 17 called out over the radio that Squads 2 and 8 were wiped out.

One of the two lanky bastards from before the attack had broken in through an uncovered window in the back of the mansion and caught the two groups by surprise. His other tall associate had met up and charged together into the lower levels before splitting up again.

_Integra, dead. Seras, dead. Alucard unable to save them. Pip dead. Claude unable to save him._

Claude gripped at his head, grabbing his radio, fury running through every vein in his body. He keyed the channel for the rest of the radios they used.

“This is… This is Claude Grey to all Hellsing soldiers and the Wild Geese mercenaries. Everyone on the second storey secure the stairwells at all costs! Don’t let any of those bastards up there! Level the fuckin’ stairwells with C4 if you have to! All forces on the first storey and below, do whatever you can to get to the basement! They’re aiming for Sir Integra!”

They’d probably be fine. But was he really going to risk it? He had a dinner date with Monsieur Bernadotte to look forward to. Integra was like a mother to him. Seras almost like a sister already.

**I’ll be damned if some vampire asshole’s gonna take everything away from me again.**

Everything had transpired over the course of a few seconds. Before anybody else had a chance to react to what he said, Claude bolted for the stairwell and stormed downstairs. Abandoning his command like this would earn him a royal chewing-out later, but he didn’t care. He knew the basement was shielded against radio transmissions. Even if Integra had a radio, she never would’ve heard what he said. He had to get there first, and one man could move a hell of a lot faster than seven.

The basement level of the Hellsing Manor was a labyrinth the likes of which would have made King Minos green with envy. It sprawled much farther out and much deeper than the already palatial mansion sitting aboveground. Twisting tunnels which doubled back, dozens of dead ends, fake doors, electronic shielding, all designed to hide the lowest dungeons and the deepest, darkest secrets of Hellsing and the Council of Twelve.

It was also where the vampire Alucard made his home, meaning it was somewhere Claude Grey rarely ventured.

He probably knew as much about the basement level as the vampires now trying to navigate their way to find Sir Integra.

Every corner had the potential to put him face-to-face with a being much more powerful than he was, much faster than he was, far harder to kill than he was.

He wasn’t particularly scared, not really. Dying was something he hadn’t been scared of in years. At the end of the day, Claude knew he was expendable. The Hellsing Organization would move on if he died, but Sir Integra was vital to their survival.

Claude was also fairly sure he was lost. Every corridor in the basement looked the same.

Voices came from the hallway to his left. The soldier hugged the wall and listened closely.

“You dumbass! Those cocksuckers were waiting for us and you knew it, didn’t you?!” How was he communicating with someone? That shouldn’t be possible. “I don’t give a shit what he told you or not! We walked into a trap you kraut fuck!”

**Kraut?**

Claude’s attention was taken as he heard further gunshots from down the hall to his right. That… That had to be where Integra was. He pushed away from the wall, breaking into a dead run, not caring about the noise he was making.

“Oh shit… Hey, come back here, asshole!”

Claude could hear the man behind him, footsteps moving far too fast for him to outrun. He reached to his battledress, grabbing a grenade. A flashbang. Just something to use as a distraction.

Claude pulled the pin, hearing the footsteps getting closer. After less than a second, he threw the grenade behind him and covered his ears. There was a tremendous BANG, amplified by the walls of the basement. It rattled every bone in his body, even shook his teeth. Even after covering his ears, they rang fiercely, he could scarcely hear.

A door at the end of the hallway stood open, and Claude could see the white-suited man from earlier seated against the wall, bloodied. The man turned to look at Claude, chest heaving from multiple bullet wounds. Alucard still stood, holding a gun aimed at the seated individual. He raised a second gun that Claude had never seen before. Under the ringing in his brain he could hear the vampire yelling.

“Get down!”

Claude dove for the floor, landing awkwardly on his gun. Oof. That was gonna bruise later.

There were further gunshots, though they barely registered through his already weakened hearing. He felt an impact as the vampire chasing him fell to the ground and slid along the floor.

The soldier panted, out of breath from the sprint. He clambered to his feet and trained the Karmina shotgun on the black tracksuited vampire on the ground.

“H… How’s it feel… Dickhead?”

Mr. White Suit turned, grunting. He coughed, blood spattering from his mouth.

“Jan… You should have left when I told you to…”

“Urgh… Sorry, big bro… Wasn’t gonna let you have all the fun. I wanted to take at least a few more of these assholes with us as payment for all the trouble.” Jan looked up at Alucard, and Integra as she emerged from the room behind him. “How’d you… Ungh… How’d you bitches know we were coming?”

“That’d be me.” Claude spoke, feeling vindictive. He stamped his foot on the bullet wound in Jan’s leg, prompting him to shout. “I heard you talking to your boss. Called him kraut?” He twisted his foot, digging in harder. “Let him know, it doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll see it coming. The Hellsing Organization will never let you win, whoever you are.”

Claude got a strange feeling as he said that. The little voice in the back of his head screamed at him. Jan laughed wickedly.

“Oh, trust me. He knows now.” The vampire sat up, flipping off Alucard and Integra. “He’s been listening to this entire conversation!”

**Oh shit. DEFINITELY should not have said that.**

“I’ll bet you wanna know who sent us, then! It was…” There was a flash of heat, catching everyone off guard as Jan and his brother erupted in flames. “M I L L E N N I U M…”

 There was practically a chorus of “Millennium?” from Claude and Integra. Questions fresh in their heads, they emerged from the basement to find the ghoul army neatly cleaned up. Seras had left the basement from another stairwell as the two brothers went down, and began cleaning up the leftovers of their forces.

Hellsing had, despite their readiness, taken fierce casualties. Twenty-six killed, nearly forty injured, along with eight injured Wild Geese. Claude shuddered to imagine what would have happened if they were not as prepared as they were.

After a firm dressing-down by Integra for so recklessly running headlong into the basement and abandoning his command, Claude was allowed to rest. It was night-time by now.

Fully exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to strip out of his battledress, or even to put his gun away. The second his eyes closed, he was out.

There was a soft _phump_ , then another. Claude’s eyes fluttered open slowly, unsure of how much time had passed. He looked to the source of the noise.

In the dim light of the room’s lamp, he could see a very short… Boy? Did he have… Cat ears? Claude’s eyes adjusted, and then widened as he another, much taller… Was that a woman? With a scythe? He quickly looked at the sleeping figure of his roommate. Blood… Blood on the walls.

The catboy turned to him, tittering quietly.

“Oh? You’re certainly qvite a heavy sleeper, nein?”

Without a second thought, Claude grabbed his sidearm and moved to fire it at the boy. But the woman was quicker. She was across the room before he could blink, and delivered a series of tremendous punches to his chest and stomach. Even through the bullet-resistant battledress, they knocked him utterly senseless. He gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain of what had to be several broken ribs. Thrown off balance by the impacts, Claude rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor and bringing his guns tumbling with him. Hitting the floor did nothing to alleviate the now eye-watering pain.

“Tsk… Vas zat really necessary, Obersturmführer Blitz?” The woman rolled her eyes, chomping down harder on the cigarette in her mouth.

“You vould razzer he shot you, zen?”

Claude struggled, trying to lift his shotgun, but the catboy merely walked over and stepped a foot onto his chest, eliciting a gasp of pain.

“Ah-ah-ah… Now zat’s not wery nice.” The catboy picked up Claude’s shotgun with almost no effort. He wasn’t dying, but the pain of the Nazi Youth-dressed individual standing on his chest certainly made Claude wish he was dead.

“Mein leader visely decided to stop… How you say… pussy-footing around. If our plans vere getting foreseen, vhy not capture ze individual who foresees zem?”

**Why do I ever open my big goddamn mouth?**

The catboy giggled again, now standing with both feet on Claude’s chest.

“You’re going to be coming vis us.”

He bent down, cutely tapping Claude’s nose with a finger.

The world around them disappeared entirely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for any reading confusion but I'm going to stop trying to indent these paragraphs because Tab doesn't work. I'm copy-pasting this from my main Word document, hence the formatting errors.


	5. Chapter 5

_London burned. Countless souls perished under an unstoppable onslaught. A trio of zeppelins burned through the sky, their sides bearing the Nazi swastika. Alucard, lost at sea, lured by a trap, unable to prevent the slaughter at London. Did he even want to stop it?_

_A legion of souls, sons of the Vatican, guns borne skyward as they marched, clad in their capirotes, to the beat of the drum of an egomaniacal madman. Joining the chaos they fight, expanding the war in London ever-greater._

_Death, the likes of which had never been seen._

            Claude awoke in a cold sweat, bolting upright. His body was stiff, torso constricted. He threw off the thin, scratchy blanket covering his body. His torso was bare of any shirt, covered by a series of pads and bandages across his chest.

            **What happened? Where am I?** He looked around, head throbbing from the dream.

            Claude was on a small, metal-framed bed in a cell. Meticulously clean, furnished with a sink and toilet. Above the sink was a small mirror. The door to the cell looked like it belonged in a prison, a solid metal door with glass window and port for food, painted the same off-putting cream color as the walls and floor of the room. The bed in which he sat had to have been some sort of military bed, judging by its olive drab sheets and nonexistent softness.

            And the smell. His senses adjusted to the new environment and he noticed the smell. A sickening mixture of raw disinfectant and embalming fluid. It brought tears to his eyes, the strength of it all. This room must have been cleaned mere minutes before his arrival for the stink to linger this long.

            The room was depressingly small. Less than three meters in length, only about two meters in width. Claude guessed if he laid flat, arms above his head, his toes would touch one wall and his fingers another.

            He stood, head still aching, and made his way to the mirror. Had to be made of metal. No glass to be broken here.

            A cursory examination revealed nothing changed about his appearance other than the bandages on his torso and his legs clad in… green shorts?

            Whatever magical painkillers that had been coursing through his body, numbing the ache in his chest, were wearing off. Claude winced as he felt the dull ache of freshly-repaired broken bones.

Memories of last night came flooding back. He remembered his capture, the short catboy standing on his broken chest and the beast of a woman who broke it in the first place. They took him for his ability. They wanted to use his power for their own purposes.

**I suppose that’s fair. That seems to be my only real purpose, these days.**

How long had he been here? It couldn’t have been long, much less than a day. Did anyone at home know he had been captured?

 **Or… Or do they think I’m dead?** His bedroom was doubtlessly a mess. He remembered what happened to his roommate. It wouldn’t be a poor assumption to think the same had happened to him. His mind wandered to Pip. How would he react?

His unpleasant thoughts were cut short at the sound of footsteps outside his cell. From the sound of it, had to be five people. Lots of uneven footsteps, out of synch with each other. Claude turned from the mirror, facing the door and whatever was about to come through it. He backed himself against the wall. The footsteps got louder, and he could hear a key turning in the door.

It opened, in stepping two guards, adorned in full Wehrmacht regalia, each soldier wielding what he recognized as old Sturmgewehrs. They pointed their weapons at him once each soldier was in position. His muscles tensed. If they were here to kill him, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Oh ho! Our little var prize is avake!” The voice threw him off. It belonged to a man, slightly shorter than Claude himself. Blonde, bright yellow eyes, glasses. A rotund man, in a white suit with white jacket. He opened his arms as he walked into the room, as if sarcastically asking for a hug.

Behind him was a much taller individual, with blonde hair, robed in a white labcoat and bare stomach, with strange-looking glasses. Even though Claude couldn’t see his eyes, he resented the way the man looked at him; a sense of sick curiosity, as though Claude was an attraction to be perused in the halls of a Ripley’s museum. The taller individual spoke next.

“Ja. He is lucky to be alive, much less avake. Obersturmführer Blitz nearly killed him. Even she doesn’t know how he still breathes.”

The shorter blonde man held up a hand.

“Ah, small miracles, Herr Doktor.”

“Yes, my apologies Major.” The Doctor spoke.

The Major continued, a grin spreading across his face that Claude desperately wanted to introduce to his boots. Were he wearing boots and not barefoot.

“My sincerest apologies for ze brutality vis vhich you were captured. I assure you zat Miss Blitz has been severely reprimanded.”

“I should hope so…” Claude winced, interrupted as a random jolt of pain went through his chest. He rubbed a spot on the bandages softly, desperately wishing for some more of those painkillers. “Where’s the fifth one? I heard five separate footsteps.”

“Und very astute! Ohhh, it’s like Christmas!” The Major brought his hands together dramatically, grinning more widely. “Our fifth member vaits outside for vhen ve leave, do not vorry. Ze matter vis vhich you SHOULD concern yourself, is vhy are you here?”

“Because you vant… Want…” Dammit, that stupid German accent is getting stuck in his head. “Because you want to use me as a weapon. Turn my precognition into something you can use for your own gains.”

The Major tittered, nodding his head. “Yes! Zat is correct!” As his laughter subsided, he walked closer, eyes deliberately meeting Claude’s. The Major seemed to sober up a bit. “I can assure you, you have my promise zat if you cooperate, you vill not be harmed.” Claude severely doubted that. “Und who knows? Maybe, vone day, you vill have a place at my side like Herr Doktor here.”

Claude wanted to be sick. He knew what this was; a bullshit ploy to gain his cooperation. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell the Major to fuck off, that he’d never get Claude’s help. Then he looked at the soldiers with their guns, at the Doctor who eyed him with the same fervor a burglar might look at a safe to be cracked. He could only imagine the sick experiments running through the Doctor’s mind. It occurred to him, that resist all he might, these were obviously very capable people. They would get what they wanted whether he agreed or not.

Claude looked at the Major, deadly serious. “I don’t agree with what you’re trying to do. Suppose I don’t want to help you.” He needed to press his luck, to see if he could crack the aggravatingly cheery veneer the Major seemed to have. To Claude’s great surprise, if his words had any effect at all, the short blonde man did not show it.

“I can promise you, ve are much more capable zan you think ve are. Assist us, und be revarded for your cooperation. Defy us, und be strapped to a table, limbs removed und fed to our vampire soldiers, head locked into a machine zat tells us every thought zat passes through your head, every image that pops into your precious little brain.” He stepped back, clasping both hands together. “You make ze decision, Herr Grey. Captain! You may enter!”

So, Claude was right.

With his dramatic statement, the Major stepped out of the room, followed by the Doctor and both soldiers. The door did not close, however, as in stepped a monstrously-tall man, draped in a dark green coat, with hat and pants of the same color, carrying a tray. Over the collar of his coat, Claude could see a pair of dark red eyes peering at him. The Captain paused at the sight of Claude, now seated in the bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

Claude paused, staring back at the Captain, who was still just standing in the doorway. He grimaced at the much taller man, distraught from the previous conversation.

“Are you gonna give me what’s on the tray or not?” This seemed to snap the Captain out of his trance. He nodded and walked over, crouching down and setting the tray in front of Claude.

Two slices of rye bread, a piece of dried sausage, cheese, greens, and a plastic mug of water. Claude sighed.

“These are combat rations, aren’t they?”

The Captain nodded, still silent. For some reason, that just pissed Claude off further.

“Look, I’m your prisoner, I get it. You can say whatever the hell you want, I don’t care.”

At that, the Captain rolled his eyes. He pointed to his mouth, then wagged his finger. Ohhhhh…

“You can’t speak.” The massive man nodded, seemingly aggravated.

Claude took a bite of the bread. Like the rest of the food on his plate, it was dry, tasting strongly of salt. He suspected he was probably the only person here who ate normal food.

“Look, big guy, Captain or whatever. I didn’t mean anything by it.” What the hell? Why was he apologizing to one of the people holding him captive? Then again, he supposed this guy hadn’t done anything to wrong him.

The Captain nodded, closing his eyes. Does that mean he’s not mad? Whatever he felt, the Captain reached out and took Claude’s free wrist, turning his hand so that the palm faced the floor. He began tracing words into the back of Claude’s hand, letter by letter.

“EAT WELL. EXAMINATION TOMORROW.”

The Hellsing agent nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” With that, the Captain stood to his full height, exiting the room. Claude sighed quietly, finishing the last of his heavily-salted rations and drinking down the water.

Plastic cup. Plastic tray. No chance of a weapon here.

 

Time moved slowly in the cell. Absolutely nothing to do. Claude found himself repeatedly changing positions in bed, staring at the ceiling, the wall, the mirror, counting his toes.

He figured about three or four hours had passed when the Doctor came in again, flanked by two guards. The Doctor motioned for him to sit up and face the wall, whereupon the labcoat-clad man began changing Claude’s bandages carefully.

Claude looked down, his eyes finally able to see the extent of his wounds. What had once been broken bones under his skin were now a set of six ugly surgery scars. That was… Disheartening.

“Oh, don’t look so glum. Zey’re very becoming of a soldier like yourself.”

Claude suppressed a sigh. “What all was wrong with me?”

“Five broken bones, a punctured lung, und various internal wounds. I did ze best I could vis vhat I had, but it seems you’re still healing as fast as you should be.”

“Yeah, well, I’m regrettably still human, so it’s gonna take a while.”

The Doctor let out a giggle. “I could fix zat in a day, mein freund. Just say ze word!” He sounded so eager.

“I’m gonna have to take a rain check on that, Kevorkian.”

“Tsk. You humans und your sense of self. So… Boring.”

After a few more checks on the healing of Claude’s wounds, the Doctor exited the room. The rest of the day passed with a very tall, bespectacled woman bringing by food for what Claude could only assume was dinner. Once he couldn’t stay awake any longer, the soldier laid back in the uncomfortable bed and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

_Hellsing Manor, assaulted. A zeppelin destroyed, spitting forth its horde of vampires. Pip, hit in an explosion. Badly wounded, fighting. He carries a wounded Seras on his back. That… That woman, Zorin. A scythe through Pip’s back seals his fate. He falls. Seras drinks of his blood. Pip… Pip dies._

Claude woke up in an instant.

“No…” He whispered softly, hot tears dripping down his face. “No, no, no…” He curled up, hugging his pillow closely.

Why? Why did he have to be here?

He wasn’t quite sure how long he was there, crying. Was it because he loved Pip? Or was it because Pip was just the first man to return his affections? Was he more than just a passing interest to the Frenchman, just an eager font for the mercenary to drink from before he moved on? Did… Did Pip even care that he was gone?

By the time the Captain and two guards had arrived to pick him up for the examination, Claude was silent. He still closely hugged his pillow, curled up on his side, silent, eyes red and face stained with tears.

The Captain saw this, helping Claude to his feet with an unshakable stoicness.

They walked through the halls of… Wherever they were. The whole world around them seemed to have an underlying stink of blood. He could smell it everywhere. In his neighboring cells, on the guards, in dry patches on the floor that he had to step to avoid. One door, he guessed it to be their cafeteria, stank so furiously of blood and decay that he had to force back the bile rising in his throat.

And the temperature. It was colder than it had any business being.

**Why couldn’t they at least give me a damn shirt?**

All of the guards eyed him hungrily. Literally hungrily, as though they saw him to be little more than a walking London broil. He ignored their gazes, instinctively sticking close to the Captain, who towered over him. Claude barely came up to the officer’s stomach.

They arrived at the examination room.

**Okay… Okay, there are far too many people here.**

The bespectacled woman from last night, Zorin, the cat boy, the Major, the Doctor, some guy in a suit with a whispy mustache, and now the Captain. No guards. Claude guessed it was because of these people. He could practically feel their power, it radiated in his bones with a sense that any one of them could turn him to meat paste in an instant.

It was the first time in his life he’d ever felt so utterly trapped.

The Doctor gestured to a plain gurney furnished with little more than a sheet. Claude sat awkwardly, under the off-putting stares of everyone in the room. The Doctor walked before him, a wide smile on his face.

“Now, Herr Grey, ve are going to begin ze examination to determine ze extent of your powers. Now… About how long vould you say you’ve had zese abilities?”

Claude sighed. May as well cooperate.

“About three years.” The Doctor scribbled something, nodding.

“Vas zis before or after your rescue by ze Hellsing organization?”

“Now hold on, how the fuck-“

“Before. Or. After, Herr Grey?”

Another sigh. “After.” This seemed to freshly energize the Doctor. He clearly had some theory working in his head, and it was pissing Claude off. The Doctor looked up.

“I am going to have First Lieutenant Blitz read your memories-“ Claude opened his mouth to object, but the Doctor held up his hand flatly. “I do not care for your consent. Zis is going to happen no matter vhat you say.”

Zorin walked over, grinning at the dirty glare Claude gave her. He remembered the other night, when she beat him within an inch of his life. He remembered his vision, seeing the sick look on her face as she killed Pip. She removed the glove on her right hand.

As the First Lieutenant moved the hand to his forehead, Claude could see an eye open in her palm. In an instant, everything went black.

And suddenly, it’s like he was there all over again. With the images flashing across his eyes, he could hear Zorin’s voice, talking to the others.

_The woods around his grandfather’s house were aflame. The whole neighborhood was. There had been a vampire attack, and when Alucard arrived to stop it, the vampire decided to cut his losses and start a fire in an attempt to escape. The vampire had taken refuge in his grandfather’s house following a gunfight with Alucard, had taken everyone inside prisoner. When Claude tried to resist, he was shot, kicked through the front door of the house. The boy coughed, shot in the lung, bones broken from the impact with the door. The tall, enigmatic, red-coated vampire approached, walking past Claude. More gunshots echoed from inside the house, and Claude closed his eyes as he realized what happened to everyone inside. Alucard and the vampire continued to exchange gunfire, when finally the no-name blood-sucker died where he stood. Integra spoke up, bringing Alucard’s attention to the still-breathing Claude, lying on the floor. Something about how he knew too much, but they couldn’t let him die. They’d have to take him in._

Claude stifled a sob, his throat aching with the effort not to cry, even as tears flowed as he remembered losing his family.

“Vat’s zis?” Zorin paused, digging further into Claude’s mind. “I see two sets of memories, of ze same event. Vone in vhich he is rescued by Hellsing, und vone in vhich he dies.”

She began digging through more memories, more recent ones. “Zere are two sets of memories for everything he does. A vorld in vhich he lives und breathes, und a vorld in vhich he does not exist.”

Her hand withdrew, and his vision returned to the world around him. Claude wiped his eyes, in control of his senses once again. After pondering for a moment, the Doctor piped up.”

“Major, I have a theory. I believe zat Herr Grey is not too unlike our Schrodinger. His powers draw from a flaw in ze universe.”

“Please elaborate, Doktor.”

“In zat moment three years ago, he vas supposed to have died. Ze universe shows him vhat occurs in ze ozzer vorld. Zat is vhy he sees events as zey may be und not as zey vill be.”

The Major let out a chuckle, looking at Claude.

“Ahhh, Herr Grey. Two roads diverged in a burning vood. Und you took ze road less traveled-by. Und zat, zat has made all ze difference.”

Supposed to have died. That phrase echoed in Claude’s mind like cannon fire. Supposed to have died.

 **I should be dead.** The thought that crossed his mind every waking moment for the past three years was now confirmed, here, in front of all of these… These freaks.

**I shouldn’t have survived. I knew it.**

The Captain’s stare seemed to soften at what the Doctor said. Even Schrodinger and the woman in the glasses looked different. Claude hadn’t really paid much heed to what happened after the Doctor’s announcement. Some more discussion, a drawing of his blood for testing, and then he was unceremoniously marched back to his room.

Claude sat on his bed, silent. He turned to the Captain, face wet with the tears he’d shed on the walk back, throat sore from the quiet sobs he’d let out when the others were out of sight. The Captain looked as if, for all the world, he wanted to speak so he could say something to the soldier, but he knew he couldn’t. He walked over, gently taking Claude’s wrist, and wrote on the back of his hand.

“I’M SORRY.”

Claude nodded once, still silent. The Captain left slowly.

Claude laid down. He wanted to be anywhere. Anywhere but here. He wanted to be at Hellsing Manor. He wanted to be at his grandfather’s house three years ago, so he could throw himself at the vampire one more time. He wanted to see Pip, Integra, Seras, even Alucard.

More than anything, Claude wanted a hug.


	6. Chapter 6

A shuffling noise in his cell made Claude open his eyes. He had fallen asleep, he supposed. Across the room, perched in a chair in much the same way as an actual cat, sat the catboy Schrodinger. Claude sat up slowly, wincing at the twinging in his bandaged chest (it still ached like a mother-). He rubbed his eyes, blinking. At some point in his sleep, his glasses had fallen to the floor. Oh well.

“Mm… Why are you here?” His mood was mildly improved from earlier; sleep tended to do that for him. He reached down and retrieved his glasses.

“I saw you vere sad earlier. I vanted to come und make sure you vere better.”

Claude yawned quite loudly. “I was sleeping.”

Schrodinger nodded slowly, then sat up straight, ears perking up. “I just vanted to tell you zat you don’t have to be sad!” He was suddenly next to Claude, perched in the exact same position on the bed. “You und I, ve are like brothers, ja?”

The catboy giggled. “Ve are ze two who break ze universe, don’t you see? Ze man who could see ze future, und ze boy who is everyvhere und novhere. Ve’d make ze perfect team, nein?”

Despite how he felt, Claude couldn’t help but be a little endeared by this. He managed a weak smile.

“I’m sure we would. But I, uh… I don’t have control of my powers. Things just kinda happen, y’know?”

“I vouldn’t be so sure. Ze Doktor seems convinced you could be made to. I saw him scribbling in his notebooks just a few hours ago. I haf not seen him so obsessed vis anything since he experimented on me!”

The soldier was more than a little worried about that. Whatever that mad scientist had in mind for him was definitely something he wanted no part of.

He had to get out of here.

 

            That turned out to be easier said than done. Everything in Claude’s room seemed to be designed to his disadvantage. The bed was bolted to the floor, the toilet and sink made of metal and practically indestructible. All of the food finery was plastic. No shirt, just shorts that didn’t even have a string.

            He had contact with another living being for less than an hour a day, the Doctor coming to change his bandages and ask questions.

            It had been nearly eight days since his capture, and Claude hadn’t even been allowed to leave his room. It was starting to drive him mad. On top of that, he desperately needed a shower. He hadn’t even had the luxury of someone coming in to bring him something to eat, not since the day Zorin read his memories. The sink had been the only saving grace he still had, his shining steel oasis in the middle of a desert cell. He knew what this was, they were starving him out.

            And it was working.

            At the dawn of the ninth day, Claude curled up on his bed. He was desperate for even the slightest bite to eat. The Doctor had been continuing to run his tests as though nothing was wrong, and completely ignored Claude when the soldier brought up the topic of food.

            As the thought began to run through his head of offering to pleasure the Doctor in exchange for food, the door opened. In stepped the Major, flanked by soldiers, with a sickening grin on his face.

            Claude struggled to stand and face the Major, he was so weak from hunger. The Major only grinned wider.

            “Ahh, still such a fighter. Zat’s good!” He began to pace around the small cell. “Nine days vithout food… I could scarcely imagine ze pain you must be feeling!”

            Claude muttered. “I bet you couldn’t.”

            The Major walked slowly around Claude in a circle, eyeing him up. “You vant to eat, yes?”

            He gulped loudly, speaking quietly. “More than anything.”

            “Follow me, zen, Herr Grey.” The Major turned and exited the room, and Claude slowly followed him. He was led into a room, roughly twice the size of his cell.

            In it, around a table, stood the Captain and First Lieutenant Rip van Winkle, both dressed in what could charitably be considered civilian clothes. In the back stood First Lieutenant Zorin Blitz, dressed in her usual attire, along with four guards.

            He was so hungry that the first thing that popped into Claude’s mind was the startling lack of food in the room. The Major turned to him.

            “Vhile ve still have quite enough rations, our stocks of… Fresh food, have begun to run low. Our sadly human benefactors need to eat, as do you, Herr Grey. Our battalion must eat as vell, but zeir dietary needs are much more… Specific.”

            “So, what, we run to the supermarket and grab some food, then hit up the local butcher for blood?”

            There was a smattering of laughter.

            **Shit, I knew things weren’t going to be that easy.**

The Major chuckled. “Oh, no no no! No, ze Captain, and Rip Van vill both be tending to ze needs of our human hosts und yourself. Obersturmführer Blitz und yourself vill be capturing a source of food for our vampire battalion. Fresh food, I might add.”

            Claude’s heart sank. There was no way he meant animals. That only left… Oh no.

            “You vill be provided a uniform und your veapons. Zis vill be a test of your loyalty to Millennium. If you do not assist in ze acquisition, or if you try to escape, or try to prevent us from accomplishing our goals, First Lieutenant Blitz is under strict orders to put you down like a mad dog.”

            The First Lieutenant’s voice piped up from the back of the room. “Und I vill do it vis pleasure.”

            “Now, Herr Grey! Suit up, und meet in ze hangar bay in tventy minutes! Oh, und Captain… Keep an eye on him.”

            All of the remaining vampires exited the room. Only the Captain stayed behind.

            Claude’s shotgun and pistol were on the table, as pristine as they had been when he was captured. Sitting beside it, neatly folded up, was a vicious mockery of his Hellsing uniform. The green coloring had been turned granite grey, all the patches that had been on his old uniform had been meticulously replicated using Bundeswehr and Waffen-SS patches and medals. Even his beret, once a bright red, was now dark black and proudly bearing the Nazi Reichsadler.

            And it was all he was going to get as far as clothing.

            Claude shyly avoided eye contact with the Captain as he stripped out of his shorts and began adorning himself with the new uniform. It wasn’t until the belt had been firmly snugged around his waist that Claude noticed the Captain only looked away when his own gaze moved in that direction.

            **What’s with him? Surely, he’s seen a guy getting dressed before.**

            He shrugged it off, continuing to dress. The new uniform was certainly more comfortable than the old one. Perhaps it was made by Hugo Boss. Now fully festooned in the Millennium regalia, he turned to his weapons. They looked identical. Even the ammo was the same, though mixed in with the silver shells were steel-cased ones, undoubtedly loaded with shot meant for humans.

            By God, everything about this pissed him off.

            The soldier, nonetheless, dutifully loaded up his guns and ammo. Captain walked over and took Claude’s wrist, beginning to write on the back of his hand.

            “I DON’T LIKE INVOLVING INNOCENTS ANY MORE THAN YOU DO. LIE BACK AND THINK OF ENGLAND.”

            “I’m not English… But I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

            Captain nodded. Together, they walked out to the hangar bay.

            Claude was completely taken aback. An enormous zeppelin, its side emblazoned with the swastika and the words “Graf Zeppelin III.” It filled most of the hangar bay, but still stood tall enough that, snugly nestled underneath it was a convoy of four Mercedes-Benz lorries, each pulling a full-length 15-meter trailer. Two of the trailers were occupied by 10-man squads of vampires. The lead lorry merely had the two First Lieutenants. This was the one to which the Captain led Claude.

            They were seated in chairs bolted to the floor of the trailer. Claude took the seat next to Rip van Winkle, while the Captain sat directly across from him.

            Blitz gave him the briefing. “Ze Captain is in charge of procuring ammunition from our allied arms dealers in Rio de Janeiro. First Lieutenant Rip Van is in charge of acquiring comestibles in the same city. You und I vill be gazzering humans from ze Rocinha favela. Twenty kilometers from ze city, ve vill be svitching trucks. Ze Captain takes ze lead truck, Rip Van vill take ze second truck, I vill take ze third truck, und you vill be taking ze tailing truck. You und I, Herr Claude, vill be in charge of our own squads on zis mission.”

            Her eyes narrowed, and she raised a finger before pointing it at Claude. “Ze Major is placing qvite a lot of trust in your abilities, UND your loyalty. If you do not pull your veight, or anything zat might compromise us, I promise you I vill personally eat you alive, piece by piece. Do not disappoint ze Major, und most importantly, don’t disappoint me, _human_.”

            She spat out the word “human” with such venom, with all the same regard one might feel for the dog shit they’ve stepped in.

            Claude merely looked up, into her eyes. He had a fresh fire in him, furious from the role he was being given, furious at Millennium for giving it to him, furious because there was nothing he could do about it.

            “Look, _Obersturmführer_ …” He could say her title with just as much poison. “I don’t wanna be here. You don’t want me here. I don’t give a shit, I’m not putting up with your attitude. You want me to prove I’m loyal, fine, I’ll do it. I may as well do what I’m told, right? I’ll lead my squad and I’ll accomplish the objective and you-“ He jabbed his finger in her direction. “Will stay out of my goddamn way!”

            He was pretty sure he’d never seen anyone’s face get that red before. She opened her mouth to reply but the Captain merely put up his hand, shaking his head at her.

            It was going to be a long ride to Rio.

 

* * *

 

            It really was a long ride. They had been travelling for almost two hours now. Aside from Rip van Winkle’s humming, all four were in near-total silence. Claude hated it. The two hours had given him some time to think over things and lose some of his anger. Not all of it, but some.

            He looked over at the humming, bespectacled woman to his left. He looked across to the silent Captain who had been glancing in his direction once or twice a minute for the past two hours. He looked at the fuming, tattooed woman who quietly sharpened her scythe, occasionally sending him hateful looks.

            “So…” The soldier piped up, breaking the silence so unexpectedly it even caught him off guard. “What’s your ideal free time activity?”

            The other three paused. Zorin sneered. “Vat ze fuck are you talking about?”

            “C’mon, you have to have something you enjoy doing to help you unwind, Miss Hieroglyphics.”

            Rip van Winkle was the only one to offer up, at first. “Oh! Zen mine vould be sitting in mein room, listening to Der Freischütz on ze record player!”

            Zorin grumbled softly. “A pack of cigarettes, a liter of blood in a stein, und a set of veights to lift.”

            The Captain motioned to mime an action, but Rip Van interrupted him. “Until recently, he’s spent his free time training! But now he seems to be very interested in ze Doktor’s vork, especially concerning…” The Captain quickly threw a spare stripper clip of ammo at her, shutting her up and causing the First Lieutenant to glare at him.

            Zorin nodded her head at Claude. “Und vat about you, human?”

            “Oh… A glass of apple cider, some cheese-and-crackers, and a copy of Game of Thrones, or Harry Potter. Especially if it’s raining outside, which, I live near London so… Every other day.”

            They continued to talk like this for another hour, when the lorries came to a halt and he had to move into the trailing lorry. The vampires in this trailer were much more talkative, like soldiers at war. He stepped in slowly, noticing their looks of hunger.

            Claude cleared his throat.

            **I don’t know if they can smell fear. Or anger. Or both. They probably can.**

            “I’m Herr Grey, and I’ll be your squad leader tonight. We’re under strict orders to capture your food sources for the next several months. Now, I may be a human, but I am NOT having any bullshit tonight! No feeding on anyone until we return to base, no killing anyone you don’t have to! If one of you blood-suckers steps out of line…” He gestured to the silver shells lining his bandolier. “I will put you down like a dog, understand?!”

            The soldiers nodded, their looks of hunger turned to a sick look of respect. They all saluted with a “Sieg Heil!” Claude choked back the bile rising in his throat and took his seat.

* * *

 

            Their raid into the favelas was a nightmare. The two lorries rolled in from separate ends of the Rocinha neighborhood, soldiers exiting and storming into the shanty houses like common criminals. One by one, they extracted men, women… Even children.

            Every pocket of resistance to their actions was crushed accordingly, every individual with a gun dropped before they could even fire a shot. Claude led his squad as ordered, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him not to.

            Filling the lorries took an hour, if that. Claude and Zorin’s squads combined had taken nearly four hundred people.

            Except for the chairs the soldiers sat in, it was standing-room-only, with the terrified, screaming civilians crammed together like sardines in the pitch-black trailers.

            For Claude, none of it felt real. It was as though the orders were being given by someone else, like he was just observing actions and events on a theater screen. Even as the lorries rumbled back to base, he felt like he was in a complete daze.

            The screaming in the trailer gradually turned into quiet crying, whimpering, and praying. He wanted for all the world to just turn his gun on these people, end their suffering now so they wouldn’t have to deal with what would come later. But he knew the gesture would mean nothing, Millennium would just send out another convoy and procure another two hundred people.

            Their arrival was heralded with the trailer doors opening, and a cadre of soldiers shepherding the poor people to holding cells deep in the base.

            Claude shambled out like a zombie. He couldn’t focus, even as the Major congratulated him with a little speech, a pat on the back, and an offer of a new room and food. He looked at the others, at Rip’s gleeful smile, at the Captain’s sympathetic gaze, and at Zorin, and her grudgingly approving look. A look like she might, potentially, have the slightest bit of respect for him. That look twisted his stomach in painful knots.

            Even as he was led to his new room, sat before a veritable smorgasbord of delicious foods. He ate the smallest bite before his stomach felt so full. The Major and his guards left, and as the door clicked shut, Claude bolted for the room’s bathroom and inaugurated the toiled by vomiting, releasing all of the built-up guilt and self-hatred in one big mess.

            He kept going until he had nothing left to give, before collapsing into a fit of crying, so loud that he didn’t even hear the door open.

            Claude felt the familiar presence behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The massively-tall, green coat-clad man crouched beside him, taking the still-crying soldier into his arms.

            Claude didn’t think twice before wrapping his arms around the warm Captain, pulling him as tightly as he could. The Captain helped him to his feet, leading him back into the room.

            The food left by the Major had grown cold. How long was he in the bathroom?

            Captain gestured to a new addition to the table. A bottle of cider. He began writing on Claude’s back.

            “I HAD RIP BUY SOME. I THOUGHT IT MIGHT HELP YOU FEEL BETTER.”

            He didn’t really have a stomach for food, even after all nine days without food, and puking his guts out. But Claude felt he could force back a glass of the familiar apple nectar.

            As he sat at the table, pouring a glass, he saw the Captain turn towards the door.

            “Um… Wait, please don’t… I mean don’t go.”

            The very tall man turned, a quizzical look on his face.

            “I, uhh… This is a lot of cider. I couldn’t possibly drink it all by myself. Would you care to drink with me?”

            Captain paused. Claude could see the slightest bit of red on his face, even past the high collar of his coat. After a moment or two, the Captain nodded and sat down beside him, filling his own glass.


	7. Chapter 7

_The great zeppelin Deus Ex Machina, low over London, flames licking at the painted sides of its armored hull. Sir Integra and the vampire Seras Victoria had board, their arrival foretold by the Major himself. The door closed behind them and the great flying machine took to the air._

Claude jolted awake, eyes momentarily shocked by the lack of light in his bedroom. For a moment, it felt like he was back in the Hellsing Manor.

            _The Captain blocks their path, a great fortress to their mission of ending the Major. He politely lets Integra pass, ever the polite, loyal subject. With little ado, he and the blonde Police Girl begin their battle. Captain takes bullet after bullet, vicious punch after vicious punch. He returns in kind, unphased, his brutal strength reflected in rippling muscles as his greatcoat leaves his body._

            Claude’s breath caught in his throat at the sight playing before his eyes in his vision. Such physical prowess as he’d never seen before. He felt a chill run down his spine. Was he scared of what he was seeing? No… No, scared was the wrong word. As the vision left his eyes and Claude sat in the darkened room, ruminating on what he saw, he was certain of one thing.

            _Fear_ was not the emotion he felt about the Captain right now.

 

* * *

 

            With his newfound freedom, owing to his performance in Rio de Janeiro, Claude was allowed to roam the facilities in which Millennium housed themselves. Not leave, certainly not. But he was allowed the small bit of independence he craved, having previously spent nearly ten days locked in a cell.

            That doesn’t mean he was truly free to wander everywhere unaccompanied. Everywhere he went, by his side was the Captain. Ostensibly it was to keep him in line, to make sure he didn’t stray anywhere he wasn’t supposed to go, to make sure he didn’t plot an escape. But if their goal was to intimidate him into submission, they would have kept Zorin Blitz as his handler. Claude had a sneaking suspicion the Captain requested to serve as his chaperone.

            It had been three full weeks since his capture. The soldier hated to admit it, but he was already starting to get used to things around here.

            They were observing the training area set up inside the Millennium facility. A squad of six vampires were sparring with First Lieutenant Blitz while several other squads supervised by Rip van Winkle were undertaking shooting practice.

            Zorin was effortlessly beating them back. Even with just her fists, the other vampires couldn’t get close to her. Despite his intense hatred of her, Claude had to admit that her skill was impressive.

            As they watched, Claude idly looked up at the Captain. The Captain, who was roughly half a meter taller than he was. Who was standing right beside him.

            Claude’s attention was suddenly taken by a sharp whistle emanating from the training arena. He turned to face the source of the noise, to see Zorin waving with a grin on her face. “Human!” She shouted. “Vouldn’t you like to spar vith me? Who knows, I might even let you live!” He scowled.

            “No thanks, cyclops. I’m perfectly content to watch from here.”

            She laughed heartily at his comment. “Fine, then, feeble one.”

            Zorin returned to fighting a new squad of vampires, and Claude let out a quiet sigh. He returned to his thoughts, thinking about the Captain.

            Shortly after Zorin’s request for a sparring session, they had been called to the Doctor’s laboratory. It was the same as every day since Claude had been given his new room. Doc took details of his visions (he never told the truth), measurements, blood tests, observational information.

            Whatever the Doc had planned for Claude, he was perfectly tight-lipped about it. He ignored all of Claude’s questions regarding the tests and blood samples he was taking.

            After the examination came his own training. Truth be told, it was less training and more weapons practice. The Major had arranged for Claude to be trained to use the same weapons as all of the vampire soldiers. He was still to use his own gun in combat, but was to be familiarized with the German weapons in case the need arose.

            He was escorted back to the range by Captain, given his gun and ammo, and told to lead a squad of vampires in their weapons exercises. Claude hefted the massive assault rifle with ease. It weighed half as much as his shotgun, so the weight was of little consequence. He turned to his squad, who listened with rapt attention. They were the same ten vampires who he led in Rio, and who regarded him with remarkable respect even though he was little more than dinner to most vampires.

            “You’re all veterans. You know your weapons, so this is more training for me than you.” He gestured to the gun in his arms. “Standard-issue FG42 paratrooper’s assault rifle. Customized to be loaded from a 50-round drum. Fires full-metal-jacket ammo.”

            **So you Nazi pricks can kill innocent civilians again.** He thought to himself. Claude sighed internally. He was still desperately hoping for a rescue, but as time went on, he knew that was going to be less and less likely. But there was a time for that line of thought, and it wasn’t now. Right now, like it or not, he had a job to do.

            Claude loaded the gun, emptied it into the targets set up downrange. Firing in bursts like he was taught by his father and again by the sergeants at the Hellsing Manor. Every round hit center mass, accurately, no target escaped his fire. There was a smattering of applause behind him.

            **Don’t patronize me.**

            He knew it wasn’t just his squad watching him. The Captain had stood nearby, keeping an eye on him. Zorin Blitz stood, arms crossed, watching with a look Claude couldn’t quite identify. Was it indifference? Was she impressed? Even Schrodinger was perched nearby. He hated the attention, just wanting to fly under the radar. But he knew that would never happen.

            Claude led the squad in several exercises, included concentrated fire, defiladed fire, covering fire. The works. They were fifty-year veterans of war, but it never hurt to sharpen up on the basics.

            After nearly four hours, they concluded the exercise. Claude was, fittingly, exhausted. The human body wasn’t meant to shoulder and fire a rifle for that length of time. All ten vampires in his squad looked at each other with mild amusement as he had to call it off so much earlier than expected.

            He feigned a smile. They disgusted him. Their fangs, their attitude, their smell of blood… Everything disgusted him. And yet he found himself drawn more to these people. Despite the trauma of the night in Rio, it had been an experience that he had gone through with all of them. He had gone through all of that and came out the other side with his sanity (mostly) intact. Behind his fake grin, he spoke.

            “Yes, well, your scharführer-“ God above, saying his rank felt like acid on his lips, “- doesn’t have the luxury of being vampires like all of you. Try as I might, I still get tired.”

            One of his soldiers, Klaus, piped up. “Perhaps ze Obersturmführers could remedy zat, ja?”

            At the mention of her title, Claude immediately glanced to one of the two observing First Lieutenants. Zorin had a grimace on her face as though even the thought of drinking his blood disgusted her. Rip van Winkle looked remarkably flustered.

            “Yes, well…” Claude cleared his throat. “Herr Major and Herr Doktor have other plans. I’m not privy to what those are. But I’m certain it doesn’t consist of me becoming a vampire.”

            He bid his squad farewell and began to walk out of the training hall. The soldier turned to look at the Captain, who now strode alongside him into the outer corridor.

            “So, Captain, might you be staying for dinner again?” Ever since his transfer into the new quarters, Claude had been accompanied by the Captain during meal time every day. The Captain never ate the same food he ate – Claude was almost certain the Captain subsisted on raw flesh and blood like the vampires around him – but nonetheless, the tall man sat across the table from Claude at every meal, lending his silent vigil to the eating soldier.

            Captain nodded, closing his eyes briefly as he did. Claude gave him a soft smile. The towering individual was, perhaps with the exception of Schrodinger, the one man in this facility whom Claude did not wholeheartedly despise. The soldier actually quite enjoyed his Captain’s presence, hence his contentment with having the man as his chaperone.

            And so they departed to Claude’s quarters. A selection of food was provided by some nameless peon, ordered by the Major to bring it to them.

            Claude picked out a simple steak and potatoes. He wasn’t worried about the food, not tonight. Or today. “Dinner” was being served at 7:30 in the morning. His circadian rhythm had to be completely shifted in order to line up with the vampires around him. That wasn’t fun, but at least there was no outside sunlight to mess it up.

            As he began to dig into the meal, Claude idly looked over at the Captain. The Captain was disassembling his enormous Mauser C96 pistols at the table, so his attention was preoccupied. He didn’t notice Claude’s stares. Claude’s stares as he beheld the Captain’s silvery hair. His dark red eyes, rapt with attention as his gloved hands tenderly dismantled the two guns with all the deftness of a clockmaker. And his coat… He could remember, vividly, the vision where he saw what lay underneath that greatcoat.

            Claude nibbled softly on his lower lip. He had been feeling much more… Drawn to the Captain, ever since the night he returned from Rio. When the Captain held him close as the overwhelming sense of guilt threatened to crush his spirit for good.

            “Captain…” Claude’s voice took the both of them by surprise. It felt so alien to break the silence between the two souls sitting at the table. The Captain looked up, his eyes meeting Claude’s for the briefest of moments before he angled them slightly away.

            “Do you… Do you have a name, Captain?” He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the look in the Captain’s eyes. Claude quickly had to explain, lest he risk offending the other man. “I just… I’ve only been able to call you ‘Captain.’ I wanted to know if there’s something else I could call you. Captain is just so… Impersonal.”

            Claude wasn’t aware he had set his hand on one of the Captain’s gloved hands until the taller male looked down at it.

            “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. But I promise I’ll keep it to myself.”

            There was a pause. It seemed to last an hour. It was probably about a minute or two. But the Captain carefully moved his free hand, index finger extended. Claude felt the cloth of the Captain’s gloved finger as it slowly traced a word onto the back of his own bare hand.

            “H A N S”

            The soldier wanted to melt in his seat. That name was so… So perfect. It fit the Captain so well. Claude smiled softly.

            “Hans. That’s a wonderful name.”

            That’s when he saw it, just barely, over the high collar of Hans’ greatcoat. That smile. And just like that, Claude’s heart nearly melted.

            His hand closed tighter around Hans’ hand for but a moment before he let go. Claude cleared his throat, looking back to his dinner. He began to try and finish the food, hoping desperately it would quell the fire burning deep in his heart at the moment.

            **Please, God, let this man feel the same way.**

            There wasn’t a doubt in Claude’s mind that there might be some conflict. Millennium may be Nazis in name only, but there was no telling what personal beliefs Hans might have, hidden behind that silent visage. After a moment, Hans grabbed Claude’s free hand again.

            “YOU AND I. WE ARE TWO OF A KIND, YES?”

            “Two of a kind? How so?” Claude’s confusion was palpable.

            “THE TWO OF US, WE ARE WEAPONS. GUNS TO BE FIRED BY HANDS OTHER THAN OUR OWN.”

            “I… Yes. You’re not wrong, Hans. I’ve… I’ve felt that way for a long time, since before I was captured.”

            “WE TWO GUNS CAN RELY ON EACH OTHER, YES? IF NOTHING ELSE, AT LEAST WE ARE WEAPONS TOGETHER.”

            Claude could feel thick tears welling up in his eyes. His throat tightened, but he smiled. A genuine smile.

            “Yes, Hans. At least we’ve got each other.”

            Claude had long since finished his food. After a few minutes, Hans stood. The soldier knew his Captain had to leave eventually.

            “Umm… Hans, wait. Before you go.”

            The Captain turned to face him. He had walked up to the vastly taller man.

            “I… Look, I’ve never really done this, but… I… Could you…” Before he could finish the sentence, Hans bent down, his lips meeting Claude’s. It was the slightest of brushes, scarcely a kiss, but the soldier could still feel the tender, surprising softness of his Captain’s lips in that briefest of moments.

            With that, Hans straightened up, the same smile from earlier plastered across his face. He tipped his hat, a bid goodnight, before turning and exiting the room.

            That kiss. That smile.

            Claude was going to be stuck with those thoughts for a while.

 

* * *

 

            Another week had passed before Claude was summoned into the Doctor’s laboratory. The room was abuzz with activity. All of the high-ranked officials in Millennium were present. Hans, Zorin, Rip, Schrodinger, Tubalcain, the Major, even the bean-counting benefactors, the old-school for-real Nazis who Claude rarely saw.

            Claude was gestured to a chair highly reminiscent of a dentist’s chair. He sat obediently, and the Doctor produced an IV bag full of what looked like a dark, silvery fluid.

            “Gentlemen!” He announced with a flourish. “Ze culmination of a month’s vork! Day und night I have vorked to reverse-engineer zese nanomachines provided by an ally of ours in ze Vatican.”

            **Nanomachines?** Claude had heard of them. He had heard of them in science-fiction, had only relatively recently been affirmed of their existence after the fight with Father Anderson. But only that isolated incident. And now, before him, was an entire bag of the stuff.

            The Doctor continued. “Zese have been fully reprogrammed to allow Herr Grey a degree of control of his precognitive abilities, in addition to ze physical und regenerative benefits.”

            Control of his powers. Even the slightest bit of control. The thought echoed through Claude’s mind like a gunshot.

            The Major opened his mouth to speak, undoubtedly some spiel about Claude’s powers and how they would be the ideal weapon of war. The soldier was having none of it. He interrupted.

            “Do it. I don’t want to hear anything. If I can have any control over these visions, even the slightest, I want this.” He lifted his sleeve, volunteering an arm. The Major clapped his hands together.

            “Ah! Such spirit! Zat’s vhat I like to see, Herr Grey! Alright, Doktor, you heard ze man!”

            Doc grinned wickedly, producing a very long, high-gauge needle. All color drained from Claude’s face at the sight. Without a word, Hans walked over, grasping the hand on Claude’s other arm.

            There was a murmur throughout the room. Schrodinger’s face lit up as he parroted something about how adorable the sight was. The Major spoke something to the effect of camaraderie among the troops. Claude could honestly hear almost nothing aside from his own heartbeat. His own heartbeat which became ever louder as the Doctor approached with that needle.

            He couldn’t look away as the needle sank into the flesh of his upper arm. The liquid began to enter his system, pulsing through his veins with incredible speed. A tingle, then chill spread through his body. Slowly, over the course of nearly half an hour, the entire bag drained into his blood. There was a delay, of course there was a delay.

            Everyone watched with bated breath. After a total of forty-five minutes, the nanomachines activated.

            A thunderclap of energy rippled through Claude’s body, his back arching as he let out a shout. Every nerve ending in every square-centimeter of skin was on fire. Not burning with flame. Burning with energy. His mind was a beehive of activity, a hundred future events flashing through his brain and across his eyes. The soldier grabbed, hand squeezing vicelike on Hans’ own hand. Claude’s eyes squeezed shut, and he willed for it all to stop.

            And just like that, it did. The visions came to a halt, replaced by his normal mental processes. His body seemed to cool down. He took a deep breath, held it for a beat, then let it out.

            **One more time.**

A vision passed through his eyes. A squad of Hellsing soldiers, complete with armor and air support, breaking into the facility to rescue him, with Alucard at their head. This was different than any vision he’d had since his capture. It didn’t come from a future where Claude didn’t exist to stop things. This was a future from this world, from his world.

            Claude opened his eyes, the largest grin on his face.

            He let go of Hans’ hand, flexing the muscles in his arms as he did. He felt so much stronger. So much more enlightened by the microscopic machines now fully incorporated into his bloodstream. Claude stood up, turning to Zorin.

            “You know, First Lieutenant… I think I’ll take you up on that offer to spar.”

            The room froze, but she returned his grin with an evil smirk of her own.

            “Bring it on, human.”

            He was going to give his body the mother of all test runs. And why shouldn’t he? Rescue was coming, at some undetermined point in the future, but it was coming for him.

            Claude felt so much more potential running through his body, a level of confidence he’d never expected to have in this situation. He’d bide his time. He’d plan with Hans. And when the time came, he was going to show these Nazis what for.


End file.
